Finding Absolution
by broken-and-true
Summary: Philo realises that the only way to find his own form of absolution will be to go to Silent Hill. R&R, please.


Again he dropped his head in his hands, thoughts of her rushing unbidden to his mind. It had been nearly a year, longer than that since he'd talked to her. But he had watched her, knowing she had no idea that he was there. All those nights he stood across the street from her window, watching as she played on the computer, smiling as he watched her cook, knowing how much pleasure she had taken from something as simple as opening a package of instant noodles. For awhile he had felt like a stalker. Then he'd gone out of town for a week with work, and when he'd come back, she was gone. Her stuff was all there, but she wasn't. After a week, her brother had called him, hoping he had known where she had gone. But he'd had no idea. Ben refused to get rid of her stuff, but he had needed help with the rent. So when she had been gone for three months, he'd moved in with Ben, leaving everything just as she had. He worked, and slept, and sat in the room, surrounded by the things that were hers. Things he'd never known about when they were together. He'd found the letters she'd written to him but never sent, letters where she sometimes reviled him, but where, other times, read like a sad love song. He knew that bed sheets should be washed every couple of weeks, but it was nearly three months before he washed them, worried that he would lose the smell of her. It was a smell he knew he would never forget; a combination of mint, cigarettes and whatever flowery shampoo she was using at the time. Part of him had hated that she smoked; another part of him had loved the way she tasted, unlike anyone else ever had. But now he couldn't even smell cigarette smoke without thinking of her.

He'd been going through her laptop again last night, visiting the sites she had stored in her browser's memory. There were some he had never gone to, including the site about Silent Hill. There was something about it that tugged at him; the pictures of the town were a few years old, but they made him think of her. It looked like a cross between a winter wonderland and that place in Maine they were always showing on television; the one in the series about the mystery writing English teacher. She'd always talked about wanting to live somewhere like that. He hadn't been able to sleep since then, obsessed with the thought that she'd gone there, to this Silent Hill. He'd asked Ben about it, but Ben swore she'd never mentioned it. But apparently she had been secretive lately, and quiet. "Dammit, Lissa. Where are you?" He was due at work in an hour, but this was the first time he felt he'd had a solid lead. He flipped open his cell phone, looking at the last picture he'd taken of her. Lissa was laughing, her hair down around her face, her eyes shining. God, he missed her. He'd wasted too much time drinking after things went wrong between them, too much time hating her, loving her. There was so much between them, so many things he had never said. All he could think about was the last few things he had said to her, and how the light he'd always seen shining in her eyes for him had gone out.

Screw it, he thought, and grabbed a few clothes, shoving them in his backpack. Suddenly he stopped, and emptied his own bag, choosing to fill hers instead. They were almost identical, but hers still had the frog charms hanging from it that he had won for her once at a fair. Stupid things, but she loved them. He needed to take part of her with him, just in case he didn't find her. For the first time, he stopped to think about what could happen if he didn't find her. To never see her again, never touch her again ... for a moment, the pain was overwhelming. He normally did everything he could to stop from thinking about the possibility that she would never be part of his life again. Even in the months where they didn't speak, the months he couldn't get past his own pain to talk to her, he always knew she was there. But now ... now she could be gone forever. There was part of him, deep down, that was beginning to believe she really was gone forever, and he was never going to be able to bring her home. But if he didn't go to Silent Hill, he'd never know the answers.

Taking one last look around the room, Philo paused only long enough to grab the odd little garden decoration she kept on her desk. He'd never cared much for it, but he knew that she'd been taken with the creepy little gnome-like thing the moment she'd seen it years ago. It was hideously ugly in his mind, but if he was going to be driving a few hundred miles to a place he'd never been, he wanted company.


End file.
